2nd Annual 25 Days of Hurt Sam
by Center of the Galaxy
Summary: A collection of Holiday related Hurt!Sam stories based on prompts. Requests are CLOSED. Updated daily! Chapter 13: Frosty the Snowman is really a nice snowman . . . when he isn't being used by a witch for evil purposes that is.
1. Presents

_**Author's Note: **__It's that time of year again! Happy Holidays everyone! Welcome to my "2__nd__ Annual 25 Days of Hurt Sam". After last year's success, I figured I would bring this back. So, what is this, you ask? Have a Christmas plot bunny bouncing around in your head but you're busy to write it? Got a holiday related prompt that you think would make a good story? Well, you're in the right place! For the month of December up until New Year's (and possibly after that) I will be writing a collection of Holiday Hurt!Sam stories based on prompts from you! So, let's talk guidelines and how to do this, shall we?_

_To submit a prompt, simply leave it in a review. I do not have my PM turned on so don't try that. Prompts can consist of a word (ex: mistletoe) to a phrase ("Sam never really understood what the big deal with eggnog was.) to a situation (Castiel and Sam go out on the town to celebrate Cas' first Christmas. On the way there, Sam gets mugged. Castiel takes care of him.) In order for your prompt to be fulfilled, please observe the following ground rules:_

_I am a gen author. __**I do not write slash of any kind!**__ Sorry! I do accept cannon pairings though._

_I only write stories T and below. __**Do not give me an M-rated prompt**__. Nothing about rape, or extreme torture, or anything like that. _

_**Sam must be hurt in this story**__. You can specify what kind of hurt you would like him to endure (ex: drowning) or you can leave it up to me. Either way, Sam will be getting the brunt of the hurt and someone else will take care of him. _

_Please __**do not submit multiple prompts**_._ I want to fulfill as many stories for as many people as I can. If you change your mind and submit another prompt, I will ignore your first one and go with the latest one. _

_Since this is the holiday season, __**please make your prompt somehow inspired by the holidays**__. It can be anything to do with the holidays, just make sure it somehow relates. _

_Finally, __**prompts are fulfilled on a first come, first serve basis**__. _

_Okay, so now that we've gotten that out of the way, let's get this started, shall we? I actually got this prompt on my summer hurt Sam series but since it has to do with Christmas, I figured it would be perfect here. This prompt comes from __**TG**__, who requested, "Sam first hears about Christmas and Santa while in kindergarten. When Santa doesn't come and Dean doesn't get any presents, Sam feels it's Sam's fault because he's so bad." Thanks for the prompt. Please enjoy!_

* * *

"_You better watch out, _

_You better not cry, _

_You better not pout, _

_I'm telling you why, _

_Santa Claus is coming to town."_

—_Bing Crosby, "Santa Claus is Comin' to Town"_

* * *

Sam's upset.

Dean notices it a few hours after their father leaves on Christmas morning—Sam's wide eyes filled with the distinct glow of disappointment. The eldest Winchester wonders briefly if it has something to do with their father, but John had only stepped out for a few hours to go check up on a lead and then get some lunch.

"Sammy?" The youngest Winchester doesn't meet his brother's gaze and chooses instead to sit on the floor and stare at the spot under their makeshift tree. John had found it in the road—someone must've hit it a few times because the branches are broken and it's misshapen—but Sam had been thrilled with it. Christmas wasn't usually a big deal in their household, but Dean tried to make it special for his brother. "What is it?" The eldest Winchester wonders if it has something to do with Sam's presents. Sure, he had made the mistake of grabbing a Barbie, but Sam hadn't seemed to care. Plus, the book he stole from the library for his brother made the youngest Winchester giggle with delight. A Christmas movie blared from their small black and white TV set; it's protagonist's learning about the true meaning of Christmas.

"Did you . . ." Sam hesitates, his gaze dropping and instantly, Dean crosses the space between them, placing a pair of strong hands on his little brother's shoulders. Sam shudders out a breath and the unmistakable streak of tears nearly breaks the older brother's heart. Something is wrong and Dean will get to the bottom of it and fix it because that's what he does—that's what he will always do—and he will make Sam smile again. "Dean." He hiccups, tears turning into a full-blown meltdown and the eldest Winchester rubs comforting circles on Sam's back, keeping eye contact with his brother the whole time.

"What is it? Are you okay?" Thought something is clearly not okay with his baby brother bawling his eyes out on what should be the happiest day of the year for him. Sam loves Christmas—he loves the music, he loves the lights and the decorations—and ever since he started Kindergarten this year and got to make crafts and celebrate with his class, his love of Christmas had only grown. So, what had caused this sudden transformation?

"D-Dean." Sam stutters, his sobs cutting off his oxygen supply.

"Hey, it's okay," Dean soothes, keeping his tone calm and kind. "Just take some deep breaths, alright?" He increases the speed of the circles, trying not to let his own panic and worry show up on his face. He has to get control over this situation and settle down his baby brother and put a grin back on his face. "Tell me what's wrong, Sam. I'll make it better." He means it—making Sam happy is his solemn vow, his true job. He places a hand on Sam's cheek, wiping away some tears. Sam calms slightly with his touch and Dean beams.

"You didn't get any." Sam manages to say and his older brother tilts his head to the side in confusion.

"Any what, Sam?" Clear, hazel eyes meet his and with a pouted lip, he informs him.

"Any presents, Dean," Sam insists. "Santa didn't bring you any presents."

It suddenly dawns on Dean that Sam wasn't crying because he, himself, was upset, but rather he was upset for Dean's sake.

"Santa brought you stuff, Sam—" But Sam isn't buying it and violently breaks free of his brother's grip. Storming over to the tree, he points to the empty space where Sam's presents were earlier.

"Why didn't he bring you stuff, Dean?" Sam shouts, tears shining on his cheeks and eyes. "Why not?"

"Santa must've been too busy—" He tries to soothe because there is no way in hell he's going to tell his brother the truth, that there is no Santa and that he stole the presents that "Santa" brought.

"Not true," Sam pouts, his expression sobering. The tears start to spill over his eyes again and he falls to the ground, his hand gripping the carpet. "S'not true, Dean." Dean kneels by his brother's side and ruffles his hair encouragingly.

"Why isn't that true, Sammy?" He needs to know why his brother refuses to accept the answer that his older brother provided.

"Miss Rowell says," He hesitates and Dean waits to see what Sam's latest kindergarten teacher whom he loves had to say. "That Santa comes when you're good." His gaze jumps up and rests on Dean's. "I must've been bad, Dean, and Santa didn't bring you anything."

"Sam—" He's stunned by this admission. Sam blamed himself for Dean not getting any presents? Sam thought he was bad and because he was bad that this whole thing was his fault? Overwhelmed by love for his brother, he pulls his little brother to him, wrapping an arm protectively around him.

"M'sorry, Dean." Sam sobs and his older brother presses a kiss to the top of his head.

"Sammy, listen to me," His little brother settles under his touch and Dean knows he's waiting to hear what his older brother has to say. "You've been good all year, okay?"

"But Dean—!" Sam begins to protest, but Dean shushes him.

"No, listen, okay?" Sam does. "You've been such a good boy all year and Santa brought you presents. And you wanna know why he didn't bring me anything?" His little brother sniffs and wipes his nose with his shirt. Dean rolls his eyes a bit and chuckles dryly.

"Why?"

"Cause I told Santa that the only thing I needed was you smiling today." It's the truth and deep down, Dean knows it will always be the truth. "Sam, as long as you're happy, I'm happy."

"You talked to Santa?" The youngest Winchester's eyes are wide and the remnants of sadness start to fade.

"Yeah, I did."

"What's he like? What did he say? Is he nice? Miss Rowell says—" Dean laughs, happy that the crisis is over and done with.

"I'll tell you all about it, okay?" He assures his brother, standing up and pulling him into his arms. "Let's just get you cleaned up, alright?"

"Wait, Dean."

"What?"

Sam scampers out of his arms and goes to the tree, pulling out a small package wrapped in newspaper that Dean has never seen before. Shyly, his brother's little hands extend outwards and Dean takes the present.

"Open it."

Dean does and inside lays a small popsicle stick collage with drawings of various stick figures. As his eyes scan it, he notices the distinct scrawl of his little brother's handwriting.

_Merry Christmas, Dean. Love you lots!_

It's the most beautiful present that Dean's ever received.

"Sammy, it's . . ." His throat is clogged up with emotion, suffocating his voice. "It's perfect." He hugs his brother tightly, so damn proud to be Sam's older brother. "Thanks, Sam."

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"You're crying." Sam touches his cheek and the older brother realizes that it's true. He laughs wetly and holds his brother even tighter.

"I'm just happy."

And in that moment, on that Christmas morning with his little brother in his arms, a homemade present in his hand, Dean realizes that he's truly blessed.

"So am I." Sam whispers, resting his head on Dean's shoulder.

Dean just smiles.

"Merry Christmas, Sammy."

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__I really loved this prompt. I can't wait to start getting some more from all of you! I'll update again when we get closer to Thanksgiving to give you guys time to submit prompts. In December, I'll be updating everyday. Please review and leave a prompt if you have a second! _


	2. Spirit

_**Author's Note: **__Happy Black Friday! Today, the Christmas season officially begins and I figured that I would post another chapter of this story. I will be closing requests on December 1__st__, so please submit yours now before it's too late! On December 1__st__, I will begin to update everyday from now until New Year's. I really love all the awesome prompts and I hope to get a few more. Also, anyone feel like making a cover for this story? I've searched high and low for a good Christmas image, but I can't seem to find one that I like. Anyways, if anyone feels compelled to make a cool Christmas hurt!Sam cover, I would be extremely grateful. _

_Okay, today's prompt comes from, __**InsertUnoriginalPenNameHere**__ who requested, "Sam and Dean go on a hunt with John and it's Sammy's first hunt with them. They're hunting the three Christmas spirits (you know, the ones from that story with the grouchy old man who doesn't believe in Christmas and he says "bahumbug!" all the time). They target whoever doesn't celebrate Christmas or doesn't think fondly of it, so they attack Dean. Sam, to protect Dean, jumps in front of the line of fire (could be whatever, maybe they could be hurling something heavy towards him) and breaks his leg. Dean brings Sam home and John takes care of the rest of the case and fixes (well, tries to) Sam's leg and gives him presents and watches Christmas movies all night with him to cheer him up!" I love this prompt! It brought such a huge smile to my face. Please enjoy!_

* * *

"_When the dog bites_

_When the bee stings_

_When I'm feeling sad_

_I simply remember my favorite things_

_And then I don't feel so bad!" _

—_Julie Andrews, "My Favorite Things"_

* * *

The whole thing could be the plot of one of those cheesy Christmas movies that Sam seems to adore. Here they are, hiking out in the snow, flickering Christmas lights glistening below them as they make their way through the small forest. It's Christmas Eve and on the wind, carolers' heavenly voices can be heard. The whole atmosphere is quite festive and it's almost like they've stepped into a Hallmark-like dimension.

And then, Dean sees crimson flecks of blood on the snow and the illusion shatters. They're hunting three Christmas spirits—"From the _Christmas Carol_, Dean! You know, they come to teach Scrooge the error of his ways?"—and the eldest Winchester doesn't give a fuck who these spirits are or where they've come from. All he cares about is the body count they've left behind—15—and how soon they're going to stop them.

"Stay sharp!" John barks as Sam comes to stand by his big brother's side. The kid is shaking like a leaf—damn snowstorm—and without thinking, Dean shrugs out of his jacket and wraps it around his younger brother's shoulders. Sam beams his thanks and pulls it on. This is his first hunt and he seems more excited than scared, though Dean isn't sure whether that's a good thing or not. Sam's a good hunter—the kid studied and prepared more than Dean ever had for his first hunt—and even their father had assured him that it would be a simple salt and burn.

That still doesn't keep Dean from worrying.

"Dean?" Wide eyes meet his and the older Winchester ruffles his younger's sibling's hair before beginning to trudge after their father in the snow.

This would be an easy hunt.

Up in the clearing, John freezes and signals for silence. Dean raises his shotgun full of salt and motions for his baby brother to get behind him. Sam complies, but his gaze holds nothing but strength. He's ready for this—ready to stop being isolated from his family, ready to finally help out on the family business. The evening stars begin to shine brightly. Their light seems to narrow down into a small beam that hits the middle of the snow in the clearing.

"Dean, be careful!" John snaps and Dean nods, backing up with Sam.

"I know this." Sam breathes and he moves forward, only for his brother's arm to hold him back.

"Sammy, what—?" Stunned hazel eyes meet his.

"They're coming, Dean."

And just like that, three figures emerge from the light. The first, a gorgeous young woman with sunlight glistening in her blonde hair. Her gown glimmers like the snow and her blue eyes seem to pierce the very depth of Dean's soul. Her ruby lips curl upwards in a smile and she nods her head, her tiara remaining ever in place.

"Ghost of Christmas Past." His little brother whispers, seemingly star struck.

The second, a muscular man who laughs jovially as he spies the two brothers. He wears what looks like Santa's coat; only it is in ivy green and in his red hair, a crown of holly sits. He points at Dean, and then laughs as if seeing an old friend.

"Ghost of Christmas Present." Sam mumbles, blinking furiously, as if he can't quite grasp what is happening.

The third figure sends shivers down the eldest Winchester's spine. He was like the Grim Reaper, dressed in a black robe that exposed nothing, save a pair of bony, pale hands.

"Ghost of Christmases Yet to Come." His little brother concludes, seemingly frightened as well. John meets his sons' gazes and he attempts to move, but he grimaces. Seeing his frustration, Dean tries to raise his gun, only to find his body weighed down by some unknown weight.

"Dean Winchester," The Ghost of Christmas Past begins, her voice the sound of tinkling sleigh bells. It brings a smile to his face, though he doesn't know why. "We have been watching you."

"Yeah? I'm flattered." He grinds out, trying in vain to do something. Yet, his body remains absolutely still.

"He's feisty!" The Ghost of Christmas Present booms, laughing jovially. "What a fine quality in a young man. The Ghost of Christmases Yet to Come shakes his head and the other ghost sobers.

"Know you who we are?" The female ghost questions, her eyes scanning him, as if searching for an answer.

"I know you've killed 15 people." He retorts and he feels Sam stiffen behind him. He tries to remain calm for Sam's sake. He doesn't want the kid to worry. He won't go down without a fight and if he had any say in the matter, he wouldn't go down at all tonight.

"Tis true," She continues, a graceful grin on her lips. "We are the Ghosts of Christmases Past, Present, and those Yet to Come. We offer enlightenment to those that need a reminder of the Christmas spirit."

"And killing people is in the spirit of Christmas?" The eldest Winchester growls.

"Dean—" Sam cautious, his voice trembling with unspoken fear and worry.

"Watch your tone, boy!" The Ghost of Christmas Present roars, suddenly towering as high as the tallest fir tree in the glen. Dean shrinks back a bit, but tries to hold his ground. Magic has them all trapped and until they thought of someway out, they were going to have to endure this just a bit longer.

"We do as we see fit," The young woman insists. "Those who refuse to see the error of their ways deserve death."

"No one deserves death." Sam speaks up quietly, yet his voice carries. The woman beams and her gaze softens somewhat.

"I know you, Sam Winchester," She begins in her singsong voice. "I know your pain—your longing for a Christmas that truly felt like one that you could've shared with your mother." His little brother's expression registers shock and his gaze drops. Glancing at the Ghost of Christmases Yet to Come she nods. "Rest assured, young one, you will have a Christmas like that."

"As for you, Dean Winchester," The Ghost of Christmas Present shouts, his footsteps as he moves towards Dean shaking snow free from the top branches of the trees. "You have wasted your Christmases. You have denied the spirit of Christmas to fill your heart with warmth and joy." His gaze darkened. "You have let anger and grief dominate you, much like your father." He grimaced and then folded his arms across his chest. "For this offense, we deem that you must suffer the consequences."

"Consequences?" Dean echoes. The sky darkens and the Ghost of Christmases Yet to Come steps forward, his hands glowing. "Wait, hey, can't we talk about this?"

But, it's too late. He's frozen there and he's going to die and fuck, this shouldn't be happening.

Not like this.

Not on Sammy's first hunt.

Not in front of Sam.

"Stop!"

Somehow, someway, Sam's frail body is in front of his big brother's as the bolt of magic comes down. Eyes widening, Dean can only watch as his little brother takes the hit for him—clothes smoking, eyes rolled back, blood everywhere. With a small thud, Sam tumbles into the snow, his blood mixing with the pristine white and dying it red.

"Sam?" Dean breathes, because this can't be happening. His body is free and he sinks down, hands desperately clawing his brother's body towards him, but there's too much blood. You can't survive with a wound like this. "Sammy, no!"

Sam's dead.

The wind howls and the older Winchester brother isn't sure how long he holds his brother's broken body, sobbing, before the Ghost of Christmas Past kneels down and meets his eyes.

"Dean Winchester." He doesn't look at her.

"Sam, please." His voice feels raw, like glass has shredded it and he's numb. His shirt is wet from Sam's blood but the idea of moving repulses him.

"This is not what we decreed," She continues on as if he never spoken. "We shall heal your brother." His ears pick up on that and he looks at her. "If such a noble spirit as Sam wishes to sacrifice himself for you, then there is obviously something worth saving." She grins at this.

"Something, we have overlooked." The Ghost of Christmas Present chimes in and the Ghost of Christmases Yet to Come nods his assent.

"Our magic can bring his spark of life back," She informs him, her hands glowing as she places them on Sam's heart. "Yet, not all of the damage can be repaired."

"His leg shall remain broken," The Ghost of Christmas Present decrees, placing his own glowing hands over the young woman's hands. "As a reminder of what comes to those who despise Christmas."

"What say you? Do you agree that this is fair?" The Ghost of Christmas Past asks her silent college. He nods his head and places his glowing Sam's on the others' hands. Together, the magic glows bright green, and then it enters the youngest Winchester. Amazed, Dean watches as the cuts fade away and the blood vanishes as the wound closes. Smiling, the Ghosts step back. "Think well on this night, John and Dean Winchester."

"Change your ways," The Ghost of Christmas Present booms. "Or we shall pay you both another visit."

And in a flash, they're gone.

* * *

"I'm really okay." Sam informs them for about the 10th time since they returned back to their motel room. John finishes placing the last bandage on his youngest son's leg and then grins as he once again realizes how lucky they were.

They really almost lost him.

"Just don't do that ever again." Dean growls, though there is no heat behind his words. Just fondness and relief at having his baby brother back at his side.

"I can't promise that."

"Sam—" His older brother begins to protest, but Sam holds up a hand to silence him.

"I want to protect you too, Dean."

And damn it all if that doesn't bring a grin to his face. Chuckling dryly, he hugs his brother fiercely.

"You're such a girl."

"Merry Christmas," John speaks up and Sam's gaze brightens as the two brothers sees the actual gifts in his hands. "I figured that since the hunt ended we could spend Christmas together."

"Yeah," Sam breathes, his eyes misting over with tears. "Thanks, Dad." Together, they open their presents. They swap stories of Christmases long ago and there is never a word about hunting or things that had to be done once tomorrow came. For this night, they are just a normal family.

Maybe, that's what Dean and John forgot—maybe that's what Sam knew all along—that at the end of the day, they were a family just like any other. Family needed to stick together, needed to rely on each other.

Family needed to have downtime too.

"God bless us everyone!" Tiny Tim calls from the TV and Sam is beaming as Dean hands him the remote. John's asleep on the small couch, snoring away. Dean is on the bed, next to his brother, thanking his lucky stars that Sam made it through this one okay.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Hmm?" The credits begin to roll; a Christmas song plays.

"This is the best Christmas ever."

Dean smiles, a real smile for once.

"Yeah, Sammy, it is."

And outside, the snow slowly began to fall.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__Loved this chapter! I hope you did too! Please request/review if you have a moment. Happy Holidays everyone! _


	3. Snow

_**Author's Note: **__Happy December 1__st__! Today is the __**LAST DAY TO SUBMIT PROMPTS!**__ Tomorrow, requests will be closed so if you have one, please submit now. This story will now be updated daily! I hope you guys enjoy having a month full of hurt Sam! I know I love to write them._

_Today's prompt comes from, __**CBloom2**__ who requested, "I was thinking about maybe Sam getting caught in a freak snow storm while out buying a present for Dean. He makes it back to the motel where Dean has to warm him up and so spends a sleepless night caring for his brother, then Sam is OK next day and makes Dean a tasty Christmas dinner while Dean gets some rest." Sounds perfect to me! One frozen Winchester coming up. Set early season 2. Please enjoy!_

* * *

"_I'm dreaming of a white Christmas_

_With every Christmas card I write_

_May your days be merry and bright_

_And may all your Christmases be white."_

—_Michael Bubl__é_

* * *

Dean is never letting Sam go anywhere alone ever again.

Yes, Sam can take care of himself, but trouble seems to follow the kid around. As a child, he was always being picked on. As a teenager, he was awkward and full of angst and as a young adult, he had suffered through more heartbreak then Dean could comprehend. He should've known that something would go wrong if he let Sam walk out the door and lo and behold, the other shoe had dropped.

Sam was out—by himself with no cellphone service—in the middle of a freakin' snowstorm. Only his baby brother could get caught out in a sudden snowstorm that none of the newscasts Dean's put on—four of them and counting—knew were coming.

Especially considering the circumstances that had caused Sam to leave.

_Why won't you tell me about Dad? Dean, whatever he said to you, you can tell me! _

_ Drop it, Sam._

_It's eating you alive, Dean, and I just can't watch you—_

_ Just shut up, Sam!_

"Dammit, Sammy." He ran a hand through his hair and sunk onto the bed, the mattress dipping somewhat. Truth was, it was Dean who fucked up, and it was Dean who practically pushed his brother out the door and into the storm. Sam had just kept pushing the whole "talk about your feelings about Dad" crap and Dean wasn't in the mood. Sam didn't know the burden he carried everyday, didn't understand that whenever he glanced at his baby brother, he worried that one day he would have to pull the trigger.

_Save your brother or you will have to kill him._

"Fuck!" Dean roared, rising from the bed and tossing the television remote at the wall. It shattered, the batteries flying out and rolling onto the carpet. "Who the hell tells their kid that?"

Apparently, the fearless John Winchester did.

What did that even mean, save Sam or kill him? Save him from what? Who was after him? Who was going to try and hurt his brother? It wasn't right, wasn't fair. He had all of this on his shoulders and he couldn't tell Sam, couldn't risk his baby brother looking at him like he did that night he left for Stanford, hazel eyes full of distress and anger.

No, Dean needed to solve this on his own.

He could handle this.

The door flung open and Sam stumbled in, his lips nearly blue as silent words passed through chattering teeth. Dean was there, rushing over and taking most of his baby brother's weight.

"Sammy?" He tugged his brother over to the bed and noticed the small box that his brother was clenching onto for dear life. He glanced at the familiar insignia the sharp reprimand faded away, replaced by a lump of emotion.

Sally Mae's Christmas pie.

Sam had remembered, Dean realized. His little brother—whose insistence on stopping in this little town made sense now, looking back on it—had recalled that one Christmas when they had both been young kids and John had left them for the night to finish a hunt. Sally Mae—they were renting a house next to her at the time; she was a truly kind, matronly woman—had given them this pie for Christmas and Dean had declared it to be his favorite. The pie was chocolate peppermint—it was heavenly.

"S'okay?" Sam stuttered and it took a few moments for Dean to comprehend that he was inquiring about the pie.

"Yeah," Dean mumbled incredulously. "It's fine."

"G-good." He shivered violently and the eldest Winchester sprung into action. He pulled off Sam's overcoat, damp from snow and tossed it aside. His little brother's boots came next and his socks. The rest of clothes weren't damp enough to warrant removing and Dean started to pile blankets on Sam's bed. "D-Dean?" Perplexed hazel eyes met his and the older brother sighed softly.

"Look, I'm sorry," He mumbled. "I shouldn't have snapped at you, okay? I didn't mean—" A cold hand squeezed it and Dean knew all had been forgiven. "Now, what do you say we get you warm?" Sam hummed his contentment and Dean began to pile blanket upon blanket on him, even stripping the ones from his bed to use. Sam's eyebrows went up at this, but Dean just shook his head. This was his penance, but beside the point, it was for Sam.

He'd do anything for Sam.

Turning up the heater, he watched his little brother valiantly try to fight his impending drowsiness and he chuckled. Leave it to Sam to be stubborn even though he had been through hell tonight. Ruffling his brother's hair, he grinned.

"Get some sleep, dude. I'm not going anywhere."

And, for once, Sam obeyed.

* * *

Dean didn't sleep that night.

He only allowed himself to get some rest after making sure Sam hadn't contracted a fever from his excursion out in the storm which, fun fact, ended as quickly as it came. Even then, he slept only a half and hour at time, waking up to check his brother's vitals and see that he was doing okay with the heat. Luckily, Sam was well dressed when he left and aside from the shock of being so cold, his little brother was okay.

He finally let down his guard at Sam's insistence the next morning.

"I'm okay, Dean," Sam swore. "Get some sleep, okay? I'll be right here."

So, Dean did—not because he was tired, but because he was indulging Sam—and the next thing he knew, sunset had arrived. He opened his eyes, blinked a few times and then sat up quickly.

"Sammy?"

"I'm here." He was at the table and it was then that Dean noticed it. The pie was out on full display, along with what looked like pot roast. It appeared that Sam had been busy while Dean had been asleep.

"You make this?" He gestured down to the food and Sam chuckled softly.

"I had some help—"

"Who—?"

"Sorry. Trade secret."

"C'mon, Sam—"

"Just eat." Sam directed and his brother didn't need any other incentive. The food smelled delicious and he was halfway through his dinner when he noticed that Sam had barely picked at his. "Sam? Something wrong?" His brother shook his head and Dean waited.

"Just . . ." His eyes met his. "Merry Christmas, Dean."

"Yeah," Dean grinned. "Merry Christmas."

And even though Sam didn't know the truth about their father's last words, Dean felt like the burden got a little bit lighter that night.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__Last minute requests, go! See you tomorrow for another chapter! _


	4. Mom

_**Author's Note: **__Two chapters today since I'm still getting into the swing of things and I forgot to upload yesterday. Sorry! So, prompts are closed! Thanks to those of you who did submit._

_ First prompt is from __**LoveIsAllYouNeed96**__ who prompted, "Sam is upset and that is coming across as him being moody in the eyes of Dean and John. They think he's being a brat about the lack of presents. This leads to harsh comments being made, an ultimately an argument between the Winchesters when Sam snaps and reveals the real reason behind why he's upset. Crying!Sam ensues, ReassuringBigBrother!Dean. I was thinking that Sam would be upset about the fact that he doesn't have any memories with his Mom, and is jealous of the fact that Dean had that little piece of happiness and normality, even if it wasn't for very long. If Dean comforted Sammy by telling him memories, then that would be super adorable. (Sam's feelings are hurt. I hope that counts as a way he can be hurt)." Sure, hurt feelings works! I adored this prompt. So, this is pre-series, set when Sam is 14. __**Warning: this chapter paints John in a really bad light and involves an injury on a child that could be considered child abuse. Please proceed with caution.**_

* * *

"_So I'm offering this simple phrase_

_To kids from one to ninety-two_

_Although it's been said many times, many ways_

_Merry Christmas to you."_

—_Nat King Cole, "The Christmas Song"_

* * *

Sam is a ticking time bomb about to go off, Dean can tell.

It's Christmas Day, already a tense time in the Winchester household with John angry due to the memories of Mary swirling in his head and while Dean wanted to get his brother some presents, their hunt took longer than any of them had intended and as such, there was no time to get presents.

"Sam?" Dean calls quietly from his spot on by the closet as he unloads his duffel. His little brother doesn't answer, choosing to sit on the bed in moody silence, his hazel eyes flashing like lightning with some dark expression. John's outside, pounding out a dent on the Impala, the crowbar echoing in the empty parking lot. "Hey, Sam?"

"What?" He snaps, practically snarling and the older brother freezes. He's not used to dealing with a grumpy baby brother. Sure, Sam's been frustrated before and the older brother's handled that, but a downright pissed off baby brother? No, that's a new one for Dean.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" The words just fly out of the older Winchester's mouth without him giving them much thought. Sam opens his mouth to speak when the door is flung open, rattling on its hinges as John storms in. He glances at Dean, and then follows his eldest son's gaze to where Sam is on the bed.

"Sam?" There's a hidden warning in John's tone, a chance to prevent a blowup and Dean wishes—hopes, begs, prays—for Sam to take it.

He does not.

"Why are we doing this?" The youngest Winchester hisses, glaring his father down.

"Sammy—" Dean tries to interject, but the ball is in motion now and it's too late to stop it.

"Why are we doing what?" John's voice is incredibly calm, like a sea right before a storm. He's moving towards Sam and for once, the youngest Winchester isn't backing down.

"This," Sam repeated, gesturing to the motel room, to the duffel bags, to the motel room—to their hunting life—and Dean wants nothing more than to scream and make this stop, make it stop before it's too late and harsh words are said that can never be taken back. "Why are we doing this?"

"You're asking me why we hunt?" Fury creeps into his voice and it's going to blow soon.

"Yeah," His little brother echoes, in a mocking tone. "Yeah, I am." In a flash, John is by Sam's side, gripping his little brother's shoulder, nothing but white-hot fury guiding his actions. Sam grimaces, but he doesn't fight back, like he doesn't care, like he doesn't see a point. Dean's never seen them get this heated before.

"Dad—" His voice is weak, dry, and rough like he's been screaming for hours rather than just in his mind.

"You should be ashamed." John snaps, his grip tightening and Dean knows it's going to leave a nasty bruise.

"Fuck you." Sam manages to get out and John lets go and shoves him back, Sam's head getting smacked against the headboard. That stirs something with the older brother and he jumps in between the two. For a moment, it appears like John will push past him, but comprehension sinks in. He grimaces and steps back, shaking his head before exiting through the door. Dean breathes out then practically jumps onto the bed and tugs his little brother to him, trying to see the injury, see how bad it is.

"Why'd you piss him off?" Dean whispers as he checks Sam's head that, thank God, isn't bleeding. It's just bruised and it'll be fine. "You know what he gets like this time of year, Sammy." He's about to finish his inspection when he sees the tears rolling down his baby brother's cheeks and fuck, it's been a long time since Sam's cried and Dean isn't sure how to comfort teenage Sam. "Sam? What is it? Does your head hurt? Tell me what's—"

"I can't remember." The blood in Dean's veins chills.

"What?" He prompts because if Sam can't remember then he needs to get to a hospital.

"Mom." Sam breathes. Dean freezes. Out of all the possible responses, this was not the one that the older Winchester brother expected. Their mother is still a tough topic, even 14 years after her death. They didn't dare bring her up to their father and Dean didn't really like to talk about her. "Dean, I can't remember Mom."

"I know," He swallows against the lump of emotion in his throat and breathes out slowly, trying to figure a way to fix this because that's what he does, he fixes things, he puts Sam back together every time he breaks. "I know, kiddo."

"I'm sick of not knowing her, Dean," Sam whispers, his voice breaking as a new wave of tears lays waste to his eyes. "And I'm upset that you and Dad, you both got to know her."

"She loved you." His older brother assures him, cautiously placing a hand on Sam's back, rubbing comforting circles on his back.

"She died before I knew her," Sam shakily lets out a breath. "And I guess I was just jealous." He wipes his tears away. "Do you think . . . do you think that Dad won't forgive me?" That's another thing—John's rage, the way he could've really hurt Sam more than he already did, that was new. Dean needs to figure a way to fix that too.

"He'll cool off." Dean replies, knowing that soon John will come to his senses and everything will be okay again. But Dean will be damned if he lets his father near him when he's like that again.

"God," Sam whispers, running a hand through his hair. "I screwed up, didn't I?"

"No, Dad should've never touched you. He shouldn't have yelled at you."

"It's fine, Dean—"

It's not—they both know that—but neither one knows what to do about it. So, for now, they will keep going.

"Just . . . apologize and everything will be fine."

They hope.

"Yeah, I will."

Silence ensures. Christmas carols filter in through the television, the protagonist of the movie learning that the magic of Christmas isn't gifts, but family. It's cheesy, but true. Outside, he hears his father resume pounding out the dent and he pulls Sam towards him.

"Mom was beautiful." Wide eyes meet his.

"Dean?"

"She, uh, used to sing to you. Not a lullaby or anything like that, just a Beatles song."

That's the day Sam first really gets to hear about his mother.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__I loved this chapter, but it was super hard to write. The second chapter will be up later tonight. See you then! Please review if you have a second. _


	5. Promise

_**Author's Note: **__I'm pressed for time today so I'm planning to post that extra chapter on Saturday when my real life calms down. I'm sorry for that delay! Anyways, tonight's prompt comes from __**judyann **__who requested, "weechester maybe the boys are playing outside in the snow and Sam gets hurt somehow and it's Christmas and Dean feels all bad." Thank you for such an awesome prompt. Please enjoy! Let's set this when Sam is 5._

* * *

"_Outside the snow is falling_

_And friends are calling yoo-hoo_

_Come on, it's lovely weather_

_For a sleigh ride together with you."_

—_Relient K, "Sleigh Ride"_

* * *

"You'll stay close?" Their father questions because while he may be a crappy father in a lot of peoples' eyes, he does, in fact, care for the safety of his sons. What people would never understand—what he sincerely hoped his children would one day comprehend—that he was doing this for them. Once the demon was dead, once Mary was avenged, they could get out of this life. This life, which John knew would only end one way if he stayed the course—death. This wasn't the life he wanted for his sons, but what choice did he have? Maybe Bobby was right, maybe he was a fool with nothing but revenge in his heart, but until the demon was dead, John couldn't rest. Who knew? Maybe Mary wasn't the intended target of the demon. Maybe she was caught in the crossfire and one of his sons was the true target. If that were the case, he had to stop the demon.

At any and all costs.

"Yes, sir." Dean replies, waiting for his father's permission to explore the wilderness that has become their front yard. They were in New York for the month and while their father chased down leads on a creature of unknown origin, Sam and Dean pretty much had their very own private winter wonderland to explore. Sam's still too young to understand what their father does—why he is and will forever be a hero in his older brother's eyes—and Dean's much too old for his age, but the snow seems to bring out the true child in him. John chuckles at the sheer joy that glimmers in Dean's eyes as his son waits patiently for the magic words to set him free. This would be a nice break for both of his sons.

He couldn't give them much in the way of a real childhood, but a snow day? Hell, that he would gladly give. He didn't have Christmas gifts for them—and yes, he felt awful about it, but it had totally slipped his mind—but this simple break was in his power to give. They deserved it, he knew.

"All right," He draws out the words and both Dean and Sam tense, ready to sprint out the door. "Go on."

"Yay!" Sam squeals and he throws open the door and plunges into the snow.

"Wait, Sammy!" Dean is two steps behind him and John laughs out loud for the first time in what feels like months as he watches them. His boys—that's what they were and would always be in his eyes. Two children that he had to protect at all costs. He would die to protect them in a heartbeat and that wouldn't change no matter how old they got.

"Mary," He breathes, her name is his version of a prayer. He gave up on God years ago and now all he has is her memory and two boys to keep him grounded. "Mary, what am I supposed to do?"

No answer.

There was never any answer.

Shaking his head and sighing, he goes back to his book about demons and lets himself get lost in the Latin rather then memories of his dead wife.

* * *

"Sammy!" The cry came suddenly and it pierces through the fog around John's mind faster than he can comprehend. In two seconds, he's up and flying out the door to the front yard.

"Sam!" He barks because fuck, he's scared about what he's going to see. He can't afford to lose anyone else and if Sam—no, he's jumping to conclusions. He has to focus.

"Daddy." Sam whimpers and John kneels down in the snow, where Dean is holding Sam in his lap. His youngest son blinks up at him, a jagged cut bleeding on his forehead and the father resists the urge to curse. It's going to need stiches and if any of the neighbors saw this, he has no doubt that CPS will be on their doorstep tomorrow.

"Hey, Sammy." He soothes, smiling gently and Dean meets his gaze. There's nothing but guilt swirling in those green irises and John winces inside. This burden that Dean carried on his shoulder, it was placed there by John's hand.

"Dad, I'm sorry!" Dean blurts out as he squeezes his baby brother tighter in his grip. "I turned around for two seconds and he must've slipped on some ice—"

_An ice skating rink, so many years ago._

_ A beautiful blonde dressed in jeans that were much too tight and a bulky jacket that seemed to be two sizes too big for her crashed into him. He grabbed her arm and steadied her. Big gorgeous eyes met his._

_ "I'm sorry," Her voice was sweet with a hint of sass. "I tripped on the ice." _

_ And just like that he fell for Mary. _

"It's not your fault." He whispers, shaking his head free of those memories. It's this blasted season that caused them to reappear, like ghosts he can't burn away. Dean's about to cry and God, that's his fault too. Placing a hand on his eldest shoulder's he musters a grin. "Dean, you did well, son. It's not your fault."

Dean doesn't believe him—he never does when it comes to a lapse in Sam's safety—but the burden lessens somewhat.

"Daddy." Sam cries and John picks him up, cradling him protectively in his arms.

"C'mon, kiddo, let's get you cleaned up." John stiches the wound cleanly while Dean holds Sam's hand and tells him random stories. His youngest still cries but with a little convincing from Dean, he now believes the stiches to be super cool.

"I'm cool!" Sam shouts suddenly and John ruffles his hair.

"Yeah, kiddo, you are."

"Dad, we still doing dinner?" Dean is at the door, his eyes darting to the ground. He's feeling bad still, but with time, the guilt will fade. If John has to keep telling his eldest that it was not his fault, then John will.

"Course," John replies, reaching for his coat. "It is Christmas." It is after all. The Demon will still be there tomorrow. These memories with Sam and Dean; however, they wouldn't be. And maybe he is a bad father, maybe he is broken inside—bottom line though, he will protect his family.

Until the demon died, they were in this life.

But the moment the deed was done, Sam and Dean would be normal.

That's John's promise.

"Just a bit longer, Mary." He promises her that night as he tucks the boys into bed. "Just a bit."

And outside, the bells from the local church begin to toll.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__I tried to write a really different piece from last chapter. Whether you like John or hate him, you must admit, he's a flawed character. That makes him fun to write. Please review if you have a moment! _


	6. Accident

_**Author's Note: **__My real life has imploded and I have had zero time to write. I'm so sorry everyone! I'm going to do my best to keep updating daily this week. This weekend, I will post the 5 other chapters I owe you guys for my days that I didn't post. Again, super sorry. Also, friendly reminder that prompts are closed. I'm not taking new prompts. _

_Tonight's prompt comes from __**mara-isamoose**__, who requested "Maybe it's a few days before Christmas and Sam, who just got his license, sneaks out to go get Dean a present one night but a drunk driver crashes into him and John and Dean either are called in the middle of the night or they wake up the next morning and find him and the car missing." Thanks for such the wonderful prompt. I'm sorry it took me so long to get to it! Hope you guys enjoy!_

* * *

"_Dreaming of home at this Christmas time_

_Even more than I usually do."_

—_Michael Bubl__é__, "I'll Be Home for Christmas"_

* * *

"So?" He's parked outside the DMV and as Sam runs—practically sprints up to him—a mile wide smile spread out on his face and his hazel eyes gleaming, Dean knows the answer to his own question. Waving the piece of crumpled white paper, the eldest Winchester brother watches as Sam pulls out his shiny new license.

"Passed!" He exclaims proudly and Dean smirks. Honestly, he had no doubts when Sam went in for the test—the kid was such a careful driver, unlike his older brother—but seeing the reward after watching Sam patiently practice is definitely worth it.

"Course you did," He replies. "You had me for a teacher." His little brother wrinkles up his nose, much like he did when he was a toddler and on an impulse, he leans forward and ruffles his baby brother's head. Sam swats him and nearly drops his license on the ground.

"So?" Sam asks eagerly. Dean raises his eyebrow.

"So?" He echoes.

"Can I drive her?"

"The Impala?"

"Yeah!"

A beat.

"No."

"What? But Dean—!"

Laughing to himself, the older Winchester just gets into the car, revs the engine and waits for his little brother to follow his suit. Sam may be a certified driver in the State of California, but that didn't mean he was ready to drive Dean's baby.

"No way in Hell." He mumbles.

Maybe when Sam turned 30.

* * *

Christmas snuck up on them really.

While they never celebrated in any sort of elaborate fashion, Dean always did like to have some presents on hand for Sam. Their father would somehow always manage to get a decent, home cooked meal. Sam would usually get the tree and now with his license, Dean wasn't surprised to see a small, beaten up tree standing in their small, rented house. Dropping his keys on the counter, he smirks as he inspects the broken branches. It's ruined, but still standing—a fitting tree for their family.

"Sammy?" He calls as he moves towards the fridge, hoping that they have some food left over from take-out last night.

"It's Sam!" His little brother snaps as he enters the kitchen, though there is no heat in his tone. "Like the tree?" He asks it almost shyly, like he's afraid that Dean wouldn't, which in actuality was downright impossible. He liked anything that Sam made or got him—that hadn't changed in the awkward stages of adolescent, though it seemed like it to Sam.

"Love it." He answers and he means it. Sam ducks his head, clearly embarrassed but also proud. "Where's Dad?"

"Tying up some loose ends on the hunt." Dean nods and takes a swig of the milk.

"Eww, Dean, not straight from the carton!" Sam whines and chuckling, Dean sets the container down and smirks.

"So, Christmas?" Sam shuffles his feet and runs a hand through his hair. "What is it?"

"Nothing." He answers quickly. Much too quickly and Dean knows all of Sam's tells and this is one of them. His little brother is hiding something.

"Spill it." Sam tilts his head to the side, confused.

"There's nothing to—"

"Is it about Christmas?" Like a bloodhound on the trail, Dean won't give up when it comes to his little brother.

"Yes." Sam sighs; Dean nods.

"Okay," He draws out, deliberate. "Never mind then."

And he leaves Sam in wide-eyed shock.

* * *

It's been said that a phone call after 2:00 am means nothing but trouble. For hunters though, 2:00 am phone calls are a nightly occurrence. With hunters spread out in different time zones, it wasn't unusual to get a phone call at such an ungodly hour. That's why, as the phone rings in their house, it's shrill tone echoing off the walls, Dean ignores it.

_Ring._

He tries to go back to sleep.

_Ring. _

He pictures the hot chick that he meant at the bar the other night.

_Ring._

He counts down the ways that you can kill a ghost.

"Hello?" John's drowsy voice carries to Dean's room and he sighs before settling back into his bed. He's on the brink of sleep when fast steps wake him up and John is before him, eyes red rimmed and with a dim realization, he sees Sam's bed empty and oh, fuck—

"Dad?"

John is shaking and scared. His fearless father is terrified and Dean knows it's bad, even worse then he originally thought.

"Sam's been in an accident."

That's all he said before they were out the door.

* * *

The doctor's words wash over him like waves upon the shore. Their sound ring in his ears, but the comprehension isn't there.

_ Drunk driver, 90 miles per hour, severe blood loss and trauma, chances of recovery are slim to none._

He sits in a well worn chair while their father speaks with another doctor—he cursed out the first one—and hold Sam's slim hand within his own. Numerous tubes crisscross over the bed and disappear into various monitors. He moves a strand of his brother's hair to the side of his face and he fondly smiles. His little brother is a fighter—it's in his blood—and he will overcome this. It's just another setback, just a momentary stumble.

"But you won't give up, will you?" Dean whispers. "You hang in there, okay, Sammy?"

On the bedside table, a small red package sits, blood specked on it, but otherwise unharmed. Inside, the music that Dean wanted though it doesn't matter now. He can't even look at it. His little brother nearly died getting him a Christmas present.

Sam just breathes slowly and steadily as he sleeps.

It will be okay, Dean knows.

That doesn't stop the lone tear from falling.

* * *

On Christmas Day, Sam opens his eyes and it's the best present that the older brother has ever received. John grins and the doctors are baffled, but hey, they don't know Sam. Sam isn't a quitter—he's a Winchester.

"Hey, Sammy." Dean grins, so happy and relieved and so what if he sheds a few tears of joy?

"D'n?" Exhaustion coats his voice, but the older brother takes it. "Dad?" John stands up and comes to the edge of the bed, placing a strong hand on his son's arm.

"Hey, kiddo." He breathes, relief evident on his face.

"S'okay?"

"It will be." Dean assures him.

"Kay." His eyes droop shut again and for the first time since this happened, the elder Winchesters allow themselves to relax.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

Through the slightly cracked windows, Christmas carols enter the room.

"Merry Christmas." John laughs, wetly and quietly. Placing a hand on Dean's shoulder, he nods his head.

"Merry Christmas, son."

Sam is their top priority—he is the glue that holds this family together, they both know that. If they had lost him, Dean doesn't doubt that would've been the end of him and his father.

"Merry Christmas, Sammy."

Then, leaning back again the crappy chair, he allows himself to finally rest, hand on Sam's chest, carefully monitoring his brother's heartbeat.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__Okay, back to daily updates and then this weekend, I'll post the 5 extra chapters I owe you guys. Sorry again for all this delay! Please review if you have a second. _


	7. Miracle

_**Author's Note: **__Tonight's chapter comes from __**samgirl19 **__who requested, "Maybe we can see something like a Christmas miracle. Something happens to Sam on a hunt and is nearly at death door. Something happens that Sam begins to recover." This is a wonderful prompt! I always love feel-good prompts like this. Hope this brightens up your night! Slight AU. Set pre-series when Sam is 14._

* * *

"_Hark! The herald angels sing_

_Glory to the newborn King_

_Peace on earth and mercy mild_

_God and sinners reconciled."_

—_Carrie Underwood, "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing"_

* * *

It's a simple hunt—go in, find the cursed object, burn it and get out.

It's the first hunt that John has let Sam take point on and much to Dean's chagrin, the protective older brother has to take a step back and let Sam do the prep work. His little brother efficiently comes up with their plan of attack and after one day of surveying the museum where the item is housed—a vase owned by a woman who was murdered nearly 200 years ago—Sam decides they're ready to go. John nods his head, and Dean can tell how proud Sam is, finally getting the attention that he's wanted from his father for so long.

It's a simple hunt—they all know that—but it doesn't stop the hairs from sticking up on the back of his neck as they enter into the museum after dark. The few security guards that are still working on the holiday are easily distracted and they are standing over the vase in record time. Sam reaches forward with the lighter and Dean waits for it all to end—

The spirit comes from nowhere and her icy hands are around Sam's neck within seconds. Dean runs forwards, but he finds himself flung against the hard wall. His vision wobbles and he can't find his sense of balance. A gunshot rings out and John surges past him. There are sounds of struggle and with a thud, his little brother's body falls to the floor, his eyes shut.

He's not breathing.

It's a blur, really and Dean tries to get to his brother's side, but the spirit—wild eyes, bloody hair, so angry—tosses him again and there is nothing.

Nothing, but the cold darkness.

* * *

_Sam Winchester._

The voice rings around him and fills his ears. He wants to cover his ears, but his arms won't respond. His eyes fly open and he blinks as light surrounds him. It's a room that stretches on for seemingly forever.

"Hello?" His own voice is shaky and raw, like he's been screaming for hours, but he can't remember.

_Sam Winchester._

A bench appears out of nowhere, wooden and rickety and glancing down, he sees his own initials carved on it with a shaky hand. He reaches out and touches it, smiling softly. He remembers this bench, the first time he had left a mark—a sign that proved to himself that he was here. Being shuffled around for so long, he had started to go a bit crazy. Hence, carving his name onto the bench.

"Sam Winchester." A man is suddenly standing beside him. His cerulean blue eyes are vivid and bright. A trench coat hangs loosely on his shoulders, practically enveloping him. The only visible article of clothing that the youngest Winchester could make out is a small, blue tie.

"Who are you?" The man's expression is cold, unfeeling and Sam shudders involuntarily.

"My name is of no import."

"Uh, okay?" The formal response catches him off guard really. "What—?"

"Sam, you are dying."

"Wait, what—?"

"You are dying." He glances up at the white room and then meets Sam's gaze again. "Quite quickly actually." Sam's brow furrows as the words sink in. He's dying?

"Then, what are you? The Grim Reaper?" He adds the last bit with disbelief because this guy sure doesn't look like the feared reaper. Sam didn't feel any pain—this whole thing is like a surreal dream.

"Of course not," The man interjects quickly, anger seeping into his tone. "I am not one of those."

"One of those?" Sam echoes.

"Focus, Sam," He snaps sharply and the youngest Winchester straightens unconsciously, this man's tone reminding him of his father. "Or you will pass on." Oddly enough, the information doesn't scare Sam simply because it does not feel real. For all he knows, he could wake up in his bed right now and this whole thing would be just an odd dream that he could tell his older brother about.

"Dean," He breathes, moving forward to the man. "Is Dean—?"

"He's unharmed," He states quickly. "A minor concussion."

"Okay," He whispers, running a hand through his hair. "How do I not die?" The mysterious man shifts his weight nervously and awkwardly clears his throat.

"I am . . ." Blue eyes meet his. "I am not accustomed to meddling like this."

"Meddling? What do you mean—?"

"There is a plan for you, Sam Winchester." He states with such conviction that it leaves no room for doubt in the youngest Winchester's mind.

"A plan?"

"Heaven wants you to live."

"Heaven?" Wide eyes and a quickening pulse as the realization pours in. "Wait, then you are an—!"

"I will offer you some grace." The man—angel?—informs him, offering his hand. "It shall restart your heart."

"Thank you," Then, pausing before taking his hand. "Wait, why are you doing this if you don't meddle?"

"Heaven has a plan for you," He repeats firmly. "And I follow the orders of Heaven." Sam wants to ask more, wants to understand what the plan is, but the angel moves forward and grabs his hand. Heat surges up through his arm and envelops him.

He sees the plan.

_Visions of a mother he never knew smiling at him, holding him—her love soft and so very strong at the same time. _

_ "I love you, Sammy." Her voice the sound of tinkling bells, he felt her arms wrap around him and hold him tight. Then, it's all gone in a flash._

_ Scenes at fancy college as a beautiful blonde beams at him, waving her hand. Blushing, he ducks his head and she chuckles. _

_ "Still nervous of your girlfriend, Sam?" She calls out teasingly as it fades away._

_ Dean at the driver's seat of the Impala, Sam by his side. Metallica blasts out of the speakers and the windows are rolled down, the summer wind blowing his hair. Their destination is unknown, but for once, the youngest Winchester is content._

_ This is home._

* * *

Dean's arms are tired, he's struggling for breath and Sam is still isn't breathing. He keeps going through the motions, willing this to work, but the nagging voice in the back of his head becomes louder and louder until he feels like Sam is—

Awake, breathing with a gasp.

"Jesus," Dean curses as he pushes his brother onto his side to allow the passage of air to flow better. "You scared the shit out of me, Sammy." They definitely have a hospital trip in their future and John grins—actually, for the first time in such a long time—and sure, the hunt went sideways and Dean's not going to let his brother take point on another for very long time, but they're all alive. "Guess we got a Christmas miracle, huh?" He jokes, voice shaking with sheer relief.

Maybe there is a Heaven after all.

Sam just breathes, deep and even and it's the best present that Dean could've ever asked for.

* * *

"Castiel."

His superior hasn't revealed himself, nor will he for many years, but this doesn't bother the younger angel. He knows how Heaven works; he understands it. Heaven is order and trusting your superiors. Heaven is being a good soldier.

"Sam Winchester lives."

A pause.

"Good. You have performed admirably then."

"Thank you." He stands there still, a bit awkwardly. A sigh.

"But?"

"What you allowed me to reveal to him, he will remember none of it?"

"Exactly. Information about the future isn't meant for humans."

"Yet, you allowed me to show him—" The younger angel presses.

"Because Sam Winchester needed a reason to stay on his path," His superior interjects. "While the memories will fade, the contentment will not. He will remain with his family until his scheduled departure for Stanford."

"Which is?"

"You know that information is not meant for you." His superior chides and Castiel ducks his head, embarrassed.

"I apologize." He doesn't leave though.

"What else, Castiel?" The voice is amused now, almost as if he can't believe that he's actually having this conversation.

"Sam is unaware of who he is—"

"What he is," The voice interrupts. "He is tainted, an abomination."

"Even so," Castiel plows on, though he knows fully well of the demon blood coursing through Sam's veins. Still, his prayers sounded so human. Perhaps, with some more teaching, he would learn the difference between Sam and other humans. "He did not see how he loses his significant partner in a fire, how he suffers down the road, how he dies and—"

"Castiel," Sharp tone, reproachful. "Let it go. It does not concern you."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Dismissed."

In a flutter of wings, Castiel leaves and allows himself to come to stand in an abandoned field. Overgrown grass and flowers greet him as a soft wind caresses his vessel's face.

His superior is right. Sam Winchester is an abomination—something that is meant to be destroyed. He has a part to play, as does Castiel. The angel's mission is to ensure that the plan comes to fruition.

Yes, that's his mission.

Nothing more, nothing less.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__This didn't come out as I intended, but I still really liked it. Castiel is a character that I really enjoy writing about. I hope you enjoyed it! Please review if you have a second. Thanks! _


	8. Card

_**Author's Note: **__Hope you guys are enjoying the daily updates. Just a friendly reminder that I closed prompts on December 1__st__. __**I'm not taking any more prompts. Please note that this chapter has some suicidal themes in it. If this bothers you, do not read. **_

_Tonight's prompt comes from __**Miuda22 **__who requested, "I would love to see a story set early season 8 when the brothers are at odds, where Sam is hurt and delirious with fever and Dean finds Sam's journal and he reads some entries he wrote while he was in purgatory including a Xmas card he wrote to Dean. It changes Dean's mind about Sam." Oh my goodness, I love this prompt! I am a huge fan of having journal entries in my stories. Thank you so much for this prompt!_

* * *

"_Greeting cards have all been sent_

_The Christmas rush is through_

_But I still have one wish to make_

_A special one for you."_

—_The Carpenters, "Merry Christmas Darling"_

* * *

_May 11__th__, _

_ Day one without Dean. I canvased the area where he and Cas were before they vanished. I got nothing on EMF or any physical traces of evidence. I'm focusing on the facts—I will find them and they will be okay. It's going to be fine. _

_ We will all be together again soon._

* * *

He and Sam haven't been getting along since Dean returned from Purgatory. For Sam, he's disheartened to leave his apple pie life, to give up his "normal" once again and Dean, he actually misses Purgatory. Purgatory was pure, it was simple—there was kill or be killed, nothing in-between. Life wasn't like Purgatory—it had too many shades of gray, too many dimensions that no longer make sense to the elder Winchester.

"Dean?"

He ignores Sam—he's been ignoring his brother for about three days now—and his little brother sighs dejectedly before returning back to his book. It's hard to talking to his brother—no one really understands him. Benny gets most of it, but Benny isn't human. There are still things lost in translation.

It's funny, he and Sam used to be so in sync and now . . . now they can barely stand to be in the same room.

Things will never be the same again.

* * *

_May 18__th__, _

_ Garth has nothing. Neither do any of my other contacts. One of them implied that Dean might be dead and I hung up on him. Dean is not dead. He and Cas—wherever they are—are fine. I'm not going to give up. There must be something I missed, a clue or some sort of sign. I can't find any remnants of a spell being cast but that doesn't mean they aren't there. I just need to keep searching. _

_ Dean, man, I'm not going to give up, okay? Just . . . hang in there for me._

* * *

He comes back from a night at the bar—he isn't drunk despite the five beers he's had; ever since he got back, alcohol hasn't had the same effect on him—and he's just tossing the keys on the counter when he sees the overturned cup on the kitchen table. Frowning slightly, Dean glances at the puddle of water on the floor.

"Sam?" It's weird to call out for his brother because it's been so long since he's felt like a big brother, felt like he had someone to depend on and care for. The odd sensation of worry courses through his veins replacing the numbness that occupied him before. "Sam?" He rounds the corner and that's when he sees it.

Sam's unconscious body, splayed out on the floor, damp bangs clinging to his forehead. His hand is outstretched as if he thinks he can still reach the glass.

"Sammy!" The long forgotten name tears out from his throat as years of training kick in. He's kneeling down, pulling his brother's burning frame—fuck, he must be pushing 103 or 104 at least—into his lap as he tries to get a handle of what his brother's vitals are.

Sam doesn't move.

He's too silent and he's burning.

And Dean never even noticed he got sick.

* * *

_June 12__th__,_

_ I put a gun to my head today. _

_ I didn't pull the trigger, but I should have. I'm an idiot and stupid brother. I've been over that site where they last were countless times and each time, I find nothing. As much it kills me to say it—to even think it—Dean might be gone. _

_ Dead._

_ My brother is dead. _

_ Fuck, Dean, what am I supposed to do? What do you want me to do? I can't just give up, but man, I've searched and I've combed the area, chased down every lead and I still end up with nothing. _

_ Part of me wants to scream up at the sky because after all this—after all the crap that we've gone through—to end up like this isn't fair. But then again, when have our lives ever been fair? _

_ I want to die._

_ I deserve to die. I failed Dean. I failed myself._

_ You know, the angels are right. I just fuck everything up. I hurt those around me. Jess, Dad, Madison and now Dean—what's the point of me surviving if everyone else I had is gone? _

_ Why go on anymore? _

_ I just . . . I don't know anymore._

* * *

He falls back into the routine of older brother quite easily.

He gets Sam settled on his bed, gets a few cool compresses on his scalding flesh and convinces his brother to swallow some medicine. He's a bit rusty—it's been too long since he's felt needed by someone.

"Sam, I'm . . ." He falters, unsure. He is sorry for so many things that he can't voice right now. He hesitantly reaches for his little brother's hand, grimacing at the heat that rolls off his skin, but this feels right. Dean grins nervously. "I know things haven't been the best." Understatement. "But we'll be okay."

Sam doesn't respond, just gasps ever so slightly as the fever kicks up a notch.

Dean settles in for a long vigil.

* * *

_July 1__st__, _

_ Why am I doing this? _

_ Why do I just keep going? I get in the Impala—his car, always his, never mine—and just drive until I run out of gas. I stop for the night. I get gas the next morning. The cycle repeats._

_ I don't eat really. My sleep is always the same dream—Dean sits across from me on the hood of the Impala and I don't even know what he says, but it's nice. At the end though, he stares at me with bloodshot eyes and I see a corpse. _

_ I keep wishing that this would just end. _

_ I don't pull the trigger because it would be selfish—because Dean wouldn't approve—but I can't keep going like this. I have nothing to live for._

_ Why am I doing this?_

* * *

"It's dropping, Sammy," Dean says softly, a proud grin naturally gracing his face. It's 3:00am—not that Dean sleeps anyway—and Sam's finally showing some progress of improving. He's mumbling incoherently—"kittens, Dean, pink with rainbow eyes"—and while it's hilarious and partially disturbing, it also means the fever has gone down enough that Sam can speak. Silent Sam scares Dean. Rambling Sam? It's like music to his ears.

"All right," Dean mumbles, running a hand over his face. "What do you have in here? Maybe a dorky book to keep me awake?" His eyes scan the room and come to rest on a small, leather bound book. Confused, Dean reaches for it.

It only takes a few seconds to figure out that it's Sam journal.

"Sorry, Sammy."

With a sheepish grin and glance at his brother, he opens the book and begins to read.

* * *

_July 10__th__,_

_ I ran over a dog today. I think that was my breaking point, you know? I just . . . everyone around me has been hurt because of me and this dog was now too. I couldn't allow that. I rushed him to the nearest veterinarian clinic and I passed him off to a nurse and waited. _

_ This was my fault after all._

_ And then, I met her._

_ Her name is Amelia and she's the doctor that saved my dog—I hit him, he's my responsibility now—and she called me out on it. She's strong and sassy. Dean would like her, I think. I think she gave me the dose of reality that I needed. I'll probably never see her again, but . . . _

_ I have a dog now. Someone that needs me._

_ Guess that's a good reason to live for, right?_

* * *

The fever breaks at dawn and after getting Sam hydrated and changing the soaked sweaty sheets so Sam doesn't catch a cold, Dean settles back into the chair by his brother's bed and after taking a cursory glance to make sure his little brother is okay, he lets his eyes back down on the page. He flips the page when a small card falls down from within the journal. He reaches down and grasps it.

It's a simple card—a snow covered mountain with a bright sun shining over it. With gold letters, it proclaims "Merry Christmas" and with a smirk, he flips it over.

_Merry Christmas Dean,_

_ I do not know where you are—if you're in Heaven watching over me or you're somewhere else just out of my reach—but considering how much you love Christmas, this seemed right. _

_I've quit hunting. I know, I know, you're probably saying, "Again?" but this time, I think it will stay. I've met someone. Her name is Amelia and she's great Dean. She has her issues, but so do I and together, we somehow make one fully functional person. We have a dog too, Riot. You'd like him. He likes to howl along to Metallica._

_ I'm sorry I couldn't find you. I'm sorry that I left you. There's not a moment that goes by when I wish that I could finally crack the case and figure out how to find out where you went. But, for my sanity, I just . . . I can't do that anymore. I have no one else to help either. These sound like excuses, I know, but . . . Dean, we promised each other that we would get out if it became clear the one of us was gone and never coming back._

_ I just . . . I hope you can understand this one day. _

_ —Sam_

The card leaves him speechless. He rereads it once, then twice and finally a third time, finally understanding why his brother did what he did. This whole time, Dean has only been concerned by the betrayal he felt he suffered. Not once did he pause to consider what his little brother felt. He cut off Sam's attempts to explain and had been pushing him away ever since.

But now, Dean understands.

Now as Sam stirs from his sleep and blinks up at his brother, brows furrowed, hazel eyes still suffering from the lingering effects of being so ill, Dean remembers why he still gets up everyday.

It's for Sam—it's always been for Sam.

Why has it taken him so long to remember that?

"D'n?" The voice is heavily slurred but it sounds perfect to Dean's ears. The coldness of Purgatory is fading, leaving nothing but the confident big brother in its wake.

"Hey Sammy."

And that's all he needs to say for Sam's eyes to widen, for the comprehension to settle in.

Yes, it was a shaky start and yes, it had taken them sometime, but the Winchester brothers were back.

Everything is going to be okay now.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__I loved this chapter! Hope you did too. Review if you have a second, but remember that I am not accepting new prompts! Thanks! _


	9. Memory

_**Author's Note: **__Massive update today as promised. Ready? Set. Go!_

_ This prompt comes from __**hotshow **__who requested, "This is set in Season 9. There is only Sam, Dean and Kevin in the Bunker. Sam wants to decorate the Bunker, at least a little bit, for the holidays. At first Dean is against the idea, but eventually he gives in. Where does Sam get the decorations - does he buy them or does he find them in the Bunker? Sometime when Sam is putting up the decorations, with Dean's help, he hurts himself. Sam is not so badly hurt that he needs Ezekiel to heal him, but hurt enough that he needs more than a band-aid. Dean is left looking after Sam and his injury." Thank you for such a fabulous prompt. I'm sorry it has taken me forever to get to it. So, season 9 spoilers and at the very end, __**spoilers for the midseason finale**__. Please enjoy!_

* * *

"_What's a partridge?_

_And what's a pear tree?_

_I don't know so please don't ask me_

_But I can bet those are terrible gifts to get."_

—_Relient K, "12 Days of Christmas"_

* * *

_"Okay, what is it?" Dean places the newspaper down on the wooden table and sighs softly as he lets his eyes wander to his little brother's steely gaze. Sam acts completely innocent—his usual routine whenever he wants something he knows Dean doesn't want to give—and simply lets his hazel eyes drop to the floor. "Sam?" _

_ "We should decorate for Christmas." It takes Dean a few moments to process that because one, he forgotten that they were only a few days away from the holiday and two, since when has Sam ever wanted to celebrate the holiday? _

_ "We should what?" He echoes, running a hand through his hair. _

_ "Decorate for Christmas," Sam repeats, his gaze now resting on Dean's, a fire in his eyes that his older brother hasn't seen since the first trial. "It's our first one here." Christmas last year had been spent in a motel room in California after taking out a particularly nasty vengeful spirit. _

_ "So what?"_

_"So we should celebrate it." He snaps and the eldest Winchester frowns._

_ "You don't even like Christmas." _

_ "But you do." _

_ "I don't want to celebrate this year," Dean confesses. "With the angels fallen and all this crap with Metatron—"_

_ "Dean," His tone is hard and sharp. It makes the oldest Winchester freeze for a moment. "We need to do this." _

_ "What brought this on?" Dean presses, leaning forward, intently searching his little brother's eyes for something angelic. Did angels insist on celebrating Christmas? It made sense, he supposes, but if Ezekiel is having that much of an effect on him then the eldest Winchester needed to get to the bottom of this and fix it. _

_ "Kevin." Sam confesses quietly and suddenly, it makes sense. Kevin, the young adult who got cheated out of everything—college, his mom, his girlfriend, a normal life—could they really let him lose this bit of normalcy too? Grimacing, Dean folds his arms across his chest and leans back in the chair, thinking about this. He didn't want to commit to something only to not follow through and disappoint the kid. _

_ "He say something?" The older brother ventures, trying to pinpoint what brought on this change. _

_ "No," His little brother mumbles. Then, stronger, "We should do this, Dean." _

_ "Make Christmas happen?" _

_ "We could do it for Kevin," Sam continues, ignoring his brother's confused expression. "Dean, we owe him. He deserves something good." There's truth in Sam's tone and the oldest brother caves. Throwing his hands up in defeat, he glances at his little brother's shy grin and relieved expression. _

_ "Okay. All right, let's do it." _

_ Sam's grin is reward enough._

* * *

_ Dean sends Kevin out to the store under strict orders not to return to the bunker until he has acquired all the ingredients needed for Dean to make a wonderful Christmas dinner. _

_ "Why am I doing this again?" Kevin mumbles not for the first time as the eldest Winchester practically pushes him out the door. _

_ "Because I told you too," Dean snaps. "And don't forget the pie!" He slams the door on the bewildered young adult's face. "All right, he's gone!" _

_ "Perfect!" Sam calls, his voice echoing down the hall. Dean follows the voice and finds his brother rummaging around in the storage room. _

_ "You think they have decorations?" He ventures and Sam beams, like a kid with his hands in the cookie jar. Holding up a box labeled "decorations" in faded black ink and Dean chuckles dryly. "These guys must've been hoarders or something." _

_ "Hoarders?" Sam repeats, a twinkle in his eyes. _

_ "Not that I haven't seen that show or anything—"_

_ "Yeah. Sure, right." His little brother drawls, clearly not buying it and Dean decides to just let it go. _

_ "What did you get?" He points to the box and Sam pushes it towards his older brother. He rummages through the box and pulls out some glass ornaments, some decorated with red sparkles, others containing little Santas and some just glass spheres of different colors. Strands of lights are also in the box and Dean gently tugs them out, placing them in piles beside his brother. "Wow, this is a lot of stuff."_

_ "Yeah," Sam hums his contentment and starts to organize them by colors and sets the lights aside. "You're going to make dinner?" He arches an eyebrow and Dean just shrugs. _

_ "I needed an excuse to get him out." _

_ "Sure." Sam replies, chuckling dryly. _

_ "You need my help?" _

_ "You got a tree yet?" _

_ "Garth is getting one," At his little brother's surprised expression, Dean smirks. "I figured since we doing all this stuff anyway that it might be good if—"_

_ "No, no," He interjects. "It's fine. I'm glad." Sam smiles and Dean finds himself grinning along as well. It's been such a long time—a year probably—since they've allowed themselves to relax and not have the weight of the world on their shoulders. For this one moment, they could allow themselves to breathe. _

_ "Okay. So, should I start hanging these?" He gestures to the lights and Sam nods. "Where?" _

_ "Along the walls." His little brother mumbles, his interest more focused on the box of decorations. Dean pulls the lights and glances at them, checking to see if there is a plug nearby. "Dean?"_

_ "What?" He finds the plug and moves to plug them in, but doesn't, waiting for his brother. _

_ "Could you go see if I missed a box in the other room?" Dean nods and moves down the hall and back into the main room where a few boxes are already put out, ready to use to decorate. _

_ "I don't see—"_

_ There's a large pop and the sound of glass shattering. Before he can process his thoughts, Dean's already sprinting down the hall and back into the room. Sam is bleeding heavily from his arm, pieces of colored glass still embedded in the skin. A strand of lights are plugged in, the light bulbs all blown off and glass littering the floor. _

_ "S'okay." Sam breathes, wheezing slightly. Dean is there, placing a comforting hand on his back and moving him towards a table. He rummages through a drawer and pulls out some gauze and tweezers. _

_ "We need a hospital?" _

_ "No," He mumbles, breathing out slowly. "Guess they were old lights." _

_ "You think?" Dean asks sarcastically as he begins to pull out glass. The cut is pretty deep and it would definitely need stiches, but on the scale of their worst injuries, this would be a two at that. _

_ "Just wanted to make this Christmas special." _

_ "It will be," His brother assures him sharply because fuck, this is really important to his little brother. If Sam wants this, then Dean will make it happen. That's how it has always been and it will always be that way. "I promise." Most of the glass is out now and Dean mumbles an apology as he pours the alcohol over the wound to clean it. "I got to stich this." _

_ "I know," His little brother replies through clenched teeth. "Just do it." Dean nods and pulls out the needle before quickly plunging it through his little brother's skin. Swiftly, Dean pulls the needle through the string through the skin with a steady hand. _

_ "Dean?" _

_ "Hmmm?" The wound is closed now and he cuts the string as he pulls out the needle. _

_ "Thanks for this." _

_ "For what, Sammy?" He wraps the gauze around his little brother's arm and pulls it strong. _

_ "For letting Christmas happen." _

_ Dean grins, relieved and happy as his little brother's wound is closed up. _

_ "C'mon," Dean mutters. "Let's finish this up before Kevin gets back." _

_ "Yeah." Sam answers, rising from the chair and pushing the offending lights aside. _

_ They get back to work._

* * *

Kevin returned later that day to find the bunker decorated with lights that twinkled. Garth brought a huge tree and Sam decked it out with ornaments that shone in the lights. The prophet was blown away and it was the first time that the Winchesters saw him truly happy. Dean made a feast and they all enjoyed it.

It was a good memory—a moment in time when everything was perfect and they didn't have the world on his shoulders.

Now though . . . now, Kevin was dead.

Sam was possessed.

And Dean was alone.

"I'm sorry."

Though, he wasn't sure exactly to who he was apologizing to. Kevin's burned out eye sockets, to whatever was left of his brother, or to himself for messing this up in the first place.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__Multiple updates are coming today. I'm catching up! Please review if you have a second. _


	10. Tree

_**Author's Note: **__It's Christmas Eve and I'm going to get through as many requests as I can before midnight tonight. Again, I'm so sorry for everyone who has waited so patiently. Hopefully, this update spree will make up for it. _

_ This prompts comes from __**gammadolphin**__ who requested, "Would you mind doing a chapter where human Castiel has heard about the Christmas tree tradition and wants Sam to take him out to cut one down as a surprise for Dean, who wants to have Christmas again this year. They go out into the woods to find the perfect tree, but Sam gets hurt (how is up to you), and Cas has to get him back to safety by himself. Bonus points for some nice Sam and Cas bonding." I love this prompt! Sam and Cas bonding is some of my favorite stuff to do. Thank you so much for this fabulous prompt! We're going to pretend that Dean never kicked Castiel out of the bunker and has been staying with the brothers instead._

* * *

"_For every year the Christmas tree,_

_Brings to us all both joy and glee._

_Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree,_

_Such pleasure do you bring me!"_

—_Vince Guaraldi Trio, "Oh Christmas Tree"_

* * *

"Sam."

The youngest Winchester still jumps, despite the fact that Castiel has been living with them for a few weeks. While the former angel lost his angelic powers, it seems his ability to sneak up on people has not diminished in the least.

"Cas?" He turns to face the new human, wondering idly why he's whispering. "What is it?"

"Christmas is in a week." Castiel state matter-of-factly, his eyes revealing nothing.

"Yes," Sam replies. "It is."

There is an awkward pause and Sam wonders if Christmas is a big deal in Heaven. It probably is, but the youngest Winchester hadn't worked up the nerve to ask about that nor any other matters involving Heaven for fear of the former angel becoming upset. Castiel is new to the life of the human and he must miss his old home and his powers. It wouldn't be right for Sam to pry—not now anyway. But, he would be lying if he didn't say that he had lingering questions—how exactly did Heaven work? How much knowledge of the world did they have—yet, he knows that his desire for answers will have to take a backseat now. Something is on Castiel's mind, that much his obvious. From his downcast gaze to the way he keeps shifting his weight from foot to foot, Sam knows something is up.

"Sam?" Cerulean eyes meet his.

"Yeah?" He leans forward, letting Castiel know that he has his full attention and that whatever he wants to talk about will stay between them. They've been friends for a few years and though some might argue that the former angel and Dean have a stronger bond, Sam knows their friendship is just as strong. Friendship comes in different forms, after all and though many people couldn't see it, the bond between the youngest Winchester and the fallen angel is a close one.

"I want . . ." He hesitates and Sam waits patiently. "I want to get a Christmas tree."

"A tree?" Sam echoes incredulously.

"Yes," Castiel nods vigorously. "I've been reading extensively on the way that humans celebrate Christmas and after consulting numerous television specials, I believe the best course of action is to go and get a tree."

"A real tree?" The youngest Winchester is trying to picture the last time he celebrated Christmas with a real tree and the truth is, it's been six years. Christmas, while more of Dean's thing, has become less and less of a priority. With Metatron on the loose, Sam figured that they weren't going to do anything this year. Clearly, he didn't count on Castiel.

"Yes, a real tree," Cas sounds almost annoyed now, like a small child trying to get an adult to grasp their way of thinking. "I believe Dean would enjoy it."

"Dean?"

"He's been . . ." Castiel bites his lower lip nervously. "Depressed, I think, over this whole situation."

"Yeah," Sam runs a hand through his hair. His brother's behavior has been weird of late and though he had planned on sitting his older sibling down and speaking frankly to him, maybe Christmas could fix things. "Okay. Let's do this."

"Really?" A glimmer of hope sparkles in those blue eyes and the youngest Winchester finds himself grinning.

"Of course," He reaches for the keys to the Impala and hastily scribbles a note down to his brother who is resting after a late night hunt. "Let's go."

And just like that, they're off.

* * *

Castiel turns down the offer to go to a tree lot. It turns out that by "real" tree, he meant one growing in a forest. Sure, it's a pain, but it is his first Christmas as a human and Sam is willing to indulge him. Tis the season and all that jazz, right? They drive to some back roads and within a half an hour, they pull to a stop. Numerous green trees grow—and no, they are not fir trees, but hey, Cas isn't complaining so it all works out—and by the time they get out of the car, Castiel is practically sprinting deeper into the forest. Chuckling, Sam pulls out a saw—funny how this was actually going to be used for something other than hunting—and follows him. With some careful inspection, Castiel picks out a fairly modest tree—not too tall, not too many branches—but he seems happy with it and Sam is pleased to see him smiling.

"Do you require my aid?" The former angel inquires as Sam starts the electric saw.

"Nah," He shrugs dismissively. "Just stand back." He nods and does so and grinning, Sam places the saw to the trunk. It cuts through easily and within a few minutes, Sam steps back as the tree falls down. Turning the saw off, he grins, suddenly excited to get this back to the bunker and decorate it. Dean would be thrilled and they could just relax—

"Don't move." A gun is pressed to his temple and as Castiel's eyes widen, Sam internally curses. He shouldn't have let his guard down like this, not when he knows better! The woman's voice is soft spoken, but he can sense how dangerous she truly is. "So, Castiel, this is what you do with your time now after condemning us all to this—"

"Release Sam." Castiel growls and Sam recalls so many times when the former angel used that tone in conjunction with his powers, but now, he has nothing left to protect himself.

"You have ruined us!" The woman screams, her hand holding the gun shaking. "You will perish!"

Sam knows this is his chance. He pushes her back as the gun goes off. The noise causes his ears to ring, but he moves on instinct. He dodges a punch and then throws her against a tree. She hits her head and her eyes roll up before she sinks to the ground in unconsciousness. Sam turns around only to be met with the former angel's wide eyes. His mouth moves, but the youngest Winchester can't make out the words. Dampness fills his stomach and glancing down, he can see a small crimson puddle on the ground. Frowning, he brings his hand down to his stomach and winces at the pain that flares.

"I've been shot." He manages to get out before the shock wears off and his knees buckle. Castiel is there, strong hands pulling him up. He's speaking but the voice isn't there, but suddenly, his ears pop and then sound comes flooding back in.

"—sorry for this, Sam," Castiel lowers him down onto the ground and pulls up the now soaked through part of the shirt. "The bullet is still in there." His gaze locks onto Sam's. "You require a medical professional."

"Dean," Sam breathes, grimacing as the pain flares up. "Cas, can you—?"

"I'll . . ." He nods, then hoists Sam up. "I'll do my best."

"It'll be okay," Sam tries to reassure him, though it's not really convincing. "I've had worse." They slowly start making their way to the car, which thankfully, isn't parked too far away. But the trek through the woods jostles Sam around more than he would like, eliciting severe pain as the bullet slides around the injury. The blood dribbles down from the wound and Sam tries to focus on breathing and walking without stumbling. Mercifully, they reach into the car and Sam knows that he won't be able to drive as his vision is starting to blur.

But, dimly, he realizes that Castiel can't drive.

"Cas?"

"Yes, Sam?" Castiel is standing by the driver's seat, but is totally perplexed.

"You've got to drive, okay?" The former angel nods, but he doesn't seem reassured. "Get into the driver's seat." It's getting harder and harder for him to focus and breathe. They get into the car and Sam hands him the bloody key. "Put it in the ignition." At Cas' blank gaze, the youngest Winchester reaches over and places the key in for him and starts the engine. "Both hands on the wheel, okay?" Castiel grips the wheel tightly and if the situation were better, Sam would laugh. "Okay, that pedal, will accelerate. The other is the break. I need you to put the car into drive and get on the main road. Can you do that?"

"I will do my best." He mutters and Sam finds his eyes drifting shut. A hand on his arm jolts him back into awareness. "Stay awake. I've read that unconsciousness often lead to coma or death in these kinds of cases." Sam laughs wetly, blood dribbling over his lips. "That was not a joke, Sam."

"Just . . ." He pants, lightheaded. "Drive, okay?"

"Sam—"

"Y're doin' great." Sam slurs, his eyes falling shut.

And then, there's nothing but cold darkness.

* * *

He awakens to his brother's concerned gaze, to a damp cloth being dabbed on his forehead.

"You're okay." Dean soothes.

"Cas?" Sam mumbles.

"He's here." Castiel is on his side, asleep in a chair, his clothes speckled with Sam's blood. "Drove my baby here and gave me a friggin' heart attack, but hey, he got you here in one pieces so I guess it's okay."

"S'okay?" Sam slurs, exhaustion eating away at him.

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean assures him. "It's all okay."

Sam falls asleep to his brother's voice, like so many times before.

* * *

A week later, Sam's recovered and they celebrate Christmas as the small, makeshift family that they are. Under the wonderfully decorated tree, they exchange gifts and laugh and joke and pretend like the weight of the world isn't on their shoulders.

And that night, Sam laughs as Dean gives Castiel his first driving lesson.

Sure, their lives were messed up a lot of the time, but he wouldn't trade it for anything.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__Next chapter up shortly! Please review if you have a moment! _


	11. Silence

_**Author's Note: **__Continuing on updates. Thanks for everyone's patience. This comes from __**Angela **__who requested, "I would love a story where Sam is hurt while at Stanford and Dean finds out who hurt him and pays the guy a visit and then reunites with Sam before heading off. How he gets hurt and how bad is up to you."_

* * *

"_Home for the holidays,_

_I believe I've missed each and every face."_

_ —Kenny Loggins, "Celebrate Me Home" _

* * *

_"Got a call from your brother." _Bobby's voice informs him two days before Christmas as Dean picks up his phone. It's been four months since Sam left—four months of silence between them after Dean said nothing that fateful night that Sam announced his grand plans for Stanford.

"Oh, yeah?" He tries to come off as nonchalant, but Bobby sees through his charade.

_"Yeah, except, the funny thing is," _Bobby drawls, deliberately stalling. _"That was after the hospital called me telling me that Sam was involved in a fight." _The duffel in Dean's hand falls from his grasp as the coldness that accompanies shock runs through him.

"What?" He breathes, voice faint from shock. Sam involved in a mugging? Sam in the hospital? Sam hurt and without his brother? "Bobby, what the hell—?"

_"See, I'm apparently on Sam's medical card," _The gruff hunter continues. _"Not sure why considering that he didn't put you down—"_

"Bobby, how's Sam?" He's already reaching for the duffel and throwing some clothes into the bag and forget the hunt that he was on. Sam is his main priority—Sam will always be his main priority. Maybe he got lost and forgot that, but now it's clear.

_"He said he was fine," _Bobby replies. _"But you know that boy, Dean. He's probably lying about it." _

"Yeah," He chuckles dryly, memories of Sam trying to hide various injuries from his brother filing his brain. God, how could he have given up being an older brother for this long? Why hadn't be bridged the gap yet? "Yeah, that's Sam."

_"So, you going to check up on him?" _The fact that Bobby even needs to ask is proof of how bad he let the situation get.

"Of course."

_"Good," _The older hunter sighs. "_You tell him to take care of himself, you hear?" _

With that, the line disconnects and Dean moves towards the Impala, not caring about the hunt or how angry his father would be that he was abandoning it.

All that matters—all that ever mattered—is Sam.

"Hang on, Sammy," He whispers. "I'm coming."

Big brother is back on duty.

* * *

For being a super fancy school, the security files are easy enough to get, which worries him a bit, but hey, if it brings him closer to the bastard that dared to hurt his baby brother, then it was fine for now. He had already called the hospital and checked in on Sam—bruised rips, concussion, numerous cuts and bruises—and he would swing by as soon as he could focus fully on his baby brother. Until he taught that fucking idiot who hurt his brother a lesson, his attention would be divided. The campus police report explains the aggressor in the fight, a Scott Johnson who was two years older Sam. The report had his address in case further question was needed and Dean smiles.

This would be too easy.

He breaks into Scott's apartment within a few minutes and is seated on his couch with Scott walks in, complaining about his headache. Dean beams, proud that his baby brother got a few shots in. He rises from the couch and sees the startled, deer in the headlights look that Scott is currently sporting.

"You Scott Johnson?"

He nods dumbly.

"Great," Dean continues, almost jovially. "Let's make this simple then." He circles the younger man. "You attacked Sam Winchester." He stops to stare at him the eyes. "You made a mistake."

And that's when he lands the first punch.

* * *

"Dean?" Sam blinks up at the figure by his bedside, unsure of what he is seeing is reality or some medicine induced fantasy. Sure, it's Christmas time and this would be the perfect set up for one of those cheesy Hallmark movies, but he and Dean haven't spoken in over four months. "Dean, what are you—?"

"Bobby called." Dean explains simply and comprehension dawns in Sam's eyes. Yeah, he had put Bobby down on his emergency card because, at the time, he wasn't sure if he and Dean would end up being able to work out their differences. Sam was angry with his brother not jumping to defend him from his father, but as the silence ensued, that anger had faded, leaving behind sadness and emptiness in its wake. Sure, Stanford was everything he wanted, but it was also his first time being truly by himself with no one to support him.

"Dean?" He echoes, trying to get his mind to focus.

"You're okay," His older brother soothes, rubbing comforting circles on his arm, like had done so many times as a child. "I'm not going anywhere until you're better."

"Promise?" It's childish, he knows, but he needs the confirmation. He had his brother back, but if he were to wake up and loose him . . . Sam isn't sure if he could handle that.

"I promise." There's truth in his older brother's gaze and Sam lets himself relax, not having to be on guard anymore, not since big brother is in charge. It feels nice to have someone watching your back. "I fucked up, Sam," Dean confesses as the youngest Winchester hangs on the verge on consciousness and sleep. "But, I'm here now and I'm not going anywhere."

With a smile, Sam allows himself to sink into sleep.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__More updates are coming. Please review if you have a second! Thanks! _


	12. Poison

_**Author's Note:**__ More updates. Thanks for everyone's patience. This is from __**Leahelisabeth **__who requested, "Sam has never liked Christmas and he feels the current one is just proving him right. He is stuck in bed in excruciating pain because of some sort of supernatural venom and nothing helps (this can be batcave era or they can just be in a hotel) and Dean can't be beside him to take care of him because he has to go and gank the monster that poisoned Sam. Dean somehow managed to kill the monster in record time and makes it back to Sam and makes Christmas all better." Thanks for this prompt. I do love writing poisoned Sam! This is set in season 8 right after the brothers make up but before the Trials start. Also, Kevin is already staying in the Batcave._

* * *

"_I'm sure that you'll forgive me_

_If I don't enthuse_

_I guess I've got the Christmas blues."_

—_Dean Martin, "Christmas Blues"_

* * *

"This sucks." A weary sigh, followed by a chiding,

"Sam—"

"I told you Christmas is cursed." A dry laugh.

"It's not cursed, Sam."

"Really?" A scoff. "Then, what do you call this?"

"Extremely bad luck happening in a very specific time frame." Raised eyebrows and a smirk.

"Really, Dean? I'm dying from poison and that's what you've got?" His older brother's expression darkens and Sam regrets saying it. Knowing Dean, he's probably just blaming himself for something that neither brother could've predicted. What they thought was a Hellhound turned out to be a Manticore and in the ensuing chaos, Sam got sloppy and gotten by one of the poisonous spikes on the back of its tail. The poison was slow acting—thank God for small things—but it was extremely painful, like fire as it surged up Sam's veins, trying to pound his heart to death.

"You're going to be fine." Dean promises him and Sam nods his head. He knows that if anyone is going to come through, it's his older brother. The youngest Winchester has seen him do it time and time again and he has no doubts that today will be any different.

"I know," He replies softly, placing a hand on his brother's arm and squeezing it reassuringly. "I'm not going to go down so easily. I'm stubborn."

"Like Dad was." Dean remarks casually and Sam shakes his head.

"Like you are." That earns an eye roll from his older brother and Sam laughs dryly, only for the fire to pinch his lungs and causing him to wheeze instead.

"Sam?"

"I'm fine." He forces himself to relax and breathe deeply and calmly. Hyperventilating wouldn't fix anything and he has to encourage his brother to leave, and that Sam knows, is Dean's true problem. The Manticore has to be killed and the spike has to be retrieved—that's the only way to make the antidote. Garth is on his way to meet up with Dean before the two of them head out to take of the monster, leaving a reluctant Kevin in charge of taking care of Sam.

"You hang in there, okay?" His older brother tells him fiercely and the youngest Winchester nods his head. "Kevin?" The prophet shyly steps into the room, appearing sheepish. He must've been standing by the door, unsure of when to come in. "You look after him, all right?"

"Yes," Kevin answers quickly. "I promise."

"And you'll call if—"

"Something changes," The prophet replies. "I will."

"Go," Sam urges softly. "We've got everything under control here."

"I'll be back soon." Dean informs them both, standing in the doorway, his eyes locked on Sam. "I promise."

"Okay." Sam tells him, a smile on his lips. His older brother continues to stare at him, as if he's searching for some sort of confirmation that it's okay to leave, but finally, he disappears down the hall, his boots echoing before the door opens and finally closes behind him. Kevin stands there, appearing very much like a deer in the headlights and Sam lets out a shaky breath, wincing at the sharp pain. The fire is becoming hotter and he knows the poison must be moving towards his lungs now, since the wound was in in his ribs.

"Sam?" Kevin places a damp washcloth on the youngest Winchester's head and Sam relishes the cool, leans into it. It soothes the pounding in his head. "So, this is kind of a crappy way to spend Christmas, huh?" Comically, his eyes bug out as he realizes what he just said might be offensive and Sam laughs dryly.

"You're right," He manages to get out raggedly. "Christmas isn't the best time of year for me." Talking now exhausts him and he should focus on breathing, but Kevin seems so scared. He's not even 21 yet, barely an adult. He should be in college, studying, going to parties—not watching someone slip away because of a mythological creature's poison. Kevin didn't deserve any of this.

Then again, he supposes no one really does.

"Dean will be back soon," The prophet informs him quickly. "Maybe then we can turn this Christmas around."

"Maybe." He groans as the fire licks his lungs and he gasps, gripping the sheet below him until his knuckles turn white. Sure, the poison was slow acting, but fuck, did it hurt like all hell! The cloth is quickly dipped back in the bowl of ice water and then back on his forehead. "Thanks." Kevin nods, though he seems shaken.

"I, uh, saw some oxygen tanks in a storage room," He mentions, the words flowing from him. "I could get those and see if they still work. I mean, oxygen can't go bad, can it?" Sam's eyes slink closed and he knows he has to rest now. "Sam?" A twinge of panic enters the young man's voice.

"S'okay," Sam slurs. "M'just restin'."

"Sam, try to stay awake—"

But his body craves sleep and despite how worried Kevin sounds, he caves and before Sam knows it, he's in the realm of sleep.

* * *

He awakens to the fire raging through him, making him gasp and cough. Kevin is there, patting his back and frantically trying to offer words of reassurance. Something slips around his head and with a creak; Sam feels precious air blowing into him. The fire cools somewhat and he sinks back down onto the bed and lets his gaze slowly drag over to Kevin.

"Guess oxygen doesn't expire," He muses. Then, eyes locked on Sam, he adds, "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit." He answers honestly and Kevin grimaces, glancing down at his cellphone.

"Dean should be on his way," He tells the youngest Winchester. "It's been almost two hours."

"He called?" At Kevin's disheartened expression, Sam knows his answer.

"He'll come." The prophet insists, trying to convince himself more than Sam. "I know he will."

"So do I." Sam mumbles, but of course, the question was would he come on time. Sam believed in Dean, knew that his older brother wouldn't give up, but the poison was burning its way through him and who knew if Dean or Garth had found the Manticore yet or if they were even okay.

"Just hang on, Sam." Kevin urges and Sam lets his eyes fall shut again. The darkness is more comforting than this fiery reality. "Sam?"

He's out once more.

* * *

_Fire, flames licking him, burning him. Jess died in fire. Maybe he was supposed to too? His mother died in the fire. Fire controlled everything. He had always been wary of fire, ever since he was little and now he knows why. The fire is calling him back, wanting him to finally accept his destiny. He'll be burnt to ashes and then no more. Ashes, ashes, we all fall down._

"Dean, you need to come quickly."

_A concerned gaze and tears. Why are you afraid? The fire is just the way of things. Do not fear what you do not understand. _

"S'okay, Kevin."

_Fire makes everything hot and dry and barren. Fire is for rebirth though. Phoenixes come out of the flames. _

"Hold on, Sam."

_Even in the dark, the fire is still there. _

_ It burns him._

* * *

"Sam?"

He opens his eyes, feeling deliciously numb. The fire is extinguished and there is nothing but the cool air resting within in. Kevin is standing up, behind Dean, his eyes wide with worry and now, relief. Dean, sitting on the bedside, seems a bit worse for wear—few cuts and bruises—but the smile that alights upon his face is worth it.

"Are you feeling okay?" Dean presses and Sam forces himself to nod. He's exhausted, but at least the fire is out. "Fuck, that was close." He drags a hand across his face and Sam focuses on his breathing, unsure of how his voice will sound.

"Merry Christmas," Kevin whispers. "Guess it all worked out, right?"

"Yeah," Dean sighs. "It did."

"Sam?" He lets his gaze drift over to Kevin.

"I, uh, got this for you." He holds up a wrapped package and the youngest Winchester's eyes widen in surprise. "I know you don't like Christmas, but I figured that after everything you guys have done for me . . ." He shrugs, slightly embarrassed.

"We'll do Christmas in a bit," His older brother says with a tired smile. "After you rest, how does that sound? We'll even put on one of those stupid movies you love so much."

And after everything, Sam laughs.

In that moment, Kevin and Dean know everything is going to be okay.

"Merry Christmas." Sam mumbles faintly and Dean beams.

"Merry Christmas, Sammy."

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__I'm sorry to those of you I did not get to tonight. I will update more tomorrow and if I do not get to you tomorrow, I will finish before New Year's, I swear. Again, so sorry for how bad my update speed has been this year. I hope you enjoy the stories nonetheless. Please review if you have a second! _


	13. Storm

_**Author's Note:**__ Merry Christmas! Sorry for the delay. I tried to post this earlier but the site crashed. So, today, I will be updating as much as I can. Those of you who I don't get to today, I will get by New Year's. Sorry for the delay! My personal life exploded this month and I had so much stuff to get through. Anyways, thank you for your patience. _

_ This prompt comes from __**SupernaturallyEgocentric**__ who asked for, "How about Sam being kidnapped by Frosty the Snowman?" I adore this prompt. Sorry for the delay in getting it to you. Merry Christmas! This is set pre-series when Sam is about 6._

* * *

"_Frosty the snowman is a fairy tale, they say,_

_He was made of snow but the children know_

_How he came to life one day."_

—_Michael Bubl__é, "Frosty the Snowman"_

* * *

In December, they settled into a small, comfortable house on the outskirts of a small town in Illinois. Their father was relatively calm, given how he always struggled with memories of their mother this time of year and Dean believed that this year, they might get the Christmas that Sam coveted—the one with the tree, the trimmings and all the presents they could afford. Dean wanted nothing more than to give that to his little brother, but he was afraid to approach his father and ask. What if he said no? What would Dean do then in order to make Christmas magical for his baby brother?

"Dean?"

"Huh?" Sam's voice snapped him out of his reverie and he smiled warmly as the six-year-old's curious hazel eyes locked onto his. "What's up, Sammy?" He ruffled his baby brother's hair and was rewarded by a peal of laughter by his baby brother.

"Christmas is this week!" Sam exclaimed and Dean nodded. "Do you think Daddy will be home in time?" At that, the older Winchester grimaced, though he did his best to side it from his brother. Their father was out on a hunt, leaving Dean in charge for the week and though he had promised to be home in time for Christmas, the elder Winchester doubted he would make it. Kids were going missing in this town—simply gone without a trace—and he knew his father wouldn't rest until he figured out what was going on.

"Maybe, Sammy," He settle for with a small smile. "You never know."

"Miss Hanson says that lots of good stuff happens at Christmas," His little brother commented, bringing up his new teacher, a woman that Sam absolutely enjoyed. "So, if I keep hoping, it should happen!"

"A Christmas miracle, I guess?" Dean ventured and Sam nodded his head vigorously.

"Yeah!" He chirped, bouncing up and down as he moved to the frosty window. "Dean, can we go play outside in the snow?"

"Right now?" Truth was, Dean was cold enough inside the house—Dad forgot to pay their heating bill before he left—and he wasn't really sure he wanted to venture out into the frozen world.

"Please, Dean!" His little brother begged, his puppy eyes out in full force. "Please, please, please!"

"Okay, okay," He gave in, sighing softly. "Get your coat on." Sam disappeared into the bedroom to fetch his clothes while Dean pulled on his gloves, frowning slightly at the holes in them. He really needed to ask for some new clothes but with the foul mood their father had been in; he hadn't want to risk it. Now that John was gone though—

"Do you want Santa to bring you new gloves?" Sam keenly observed and the older Winchester jerked his hand down, hiding them behind his back. "You should ask him for them. I bet he would bring it to you."

"Why's that?" Dean mumbled as he checked over Sam, making sure he was securely decked out in his clothes.

"Cause you're a good kid." He said it so earnestly and with such a wonderful smile that Dean felt himself grin in return. He loved this kid, so much more than he could ever express.

"Thanks, Sammy."

"So, snow?" He tugged on Dean's arm and chuckling, the older brother let him go out, shutting the door securely behind him. They were the only ones outside—their father had deliberately picked a place far away from other families—but the elder Winchester still scanned the area, just in case. No one except a snowman with coal eyes, a button nose and a silk top hat was there. Idly, Dean wondered who built the snowman, as he was sure it wasn't there yesterday. Still, it was harmless and the older brother allowed his attention to drift back to his brother.

* * *

They played outside for a few hours until the sun began to set and Dean decided it was time to get a fire going and get warm.

"Can we roast marshmallows in the fire place too?"

"Yeah, Sam, sure." He wasn't going to deny Sam anything this week, not when he knew that Christmas wasn't going to happen. Their father wouldn't come back in time. Santa would come—though Sam would never know whom he really was—but hey, this was their life.

"Yay!" Sam exclaimed and they entered the house, Dean locking the door behind him.

Outside in the snow, the silk hat on the snowman began to glow.

* * *

He wakes up with the feeling of foreboding so strong that he goes from sleepy to alert in just a few seconds. He reaches from the knife he keeps under his pillow—the one his father taught him how to use—and he turns his head to the side where Sam should be sleeping only to find that it's empty.

Sam isn't there.

"Sammy?" He whispers, unsure if there is someone in the house. He silently gets down from the bed and makes his way to the light switch. Flipping it on, he sees Sam's covers thrown back, but no signs of a struggle. The window, closed before bed, is now open. A chilled breeze kisses Dean's face and he frowns as he sees the unmistakable footprints of his baby brother in the snow, following something huge. "Sammy!" He throws on a coat and some shoes and grabs the gun his father taught him to use only in emergencies. The night is dark and the cold bites at him, chilling him to his very core. Still, he pushes on.

He isn't just about to give up and lose his brother. There's no way that's going to happen.

"Sam!" His voice echoes and seems to be drowned out by the wind. He can barely see where he is going, but he forces his body to keep moving. Finally, the wind suddenly stops and he gains his visibility back. "Sam?"

"And what have we here?" A voice coos and Dean pulls out the gun, his hands shaking as he aims it where the voice came from. A woman steps out onto the porch, her raven hair seemingly sparkling as her crimson lips turn upwards in a sinister smiles. "The other boy?"

"G-give m-me b-back m-m-y b-b-brother." He stammers, the cold consuming him.

"Ah, you poor little boy," She laughs. "You wandered all this way in my storm to retrieve your brother?" She waves her hand and the snowman from before clomps in. "Frosty, show him the boy." The snowman holds out his hands to reveal the unconscious younger Winchester.

"Sam!" He wants to rush forward but the cold holds him back. The woman—witch he knows now—chuckles.

"Pity," She sighs. "If you were a bit younger, you two could go together."

"I'm not g-going t-t-to let you k-kill him." He moves his finger on the trigger and she shakes her head.

"You won't be able to fire that and even if you did," She steps towards him. "You're shaking too much to actually do any damage." She turns to the snowman. "Kill him." Frosty deposits Sam on the snow and moves blindly towards Dean who staggers back.

A shot rings through the air and hits the silk hat off the snowman's head. He freezes, seemingly confused before going back to the form of a normal snowman.

"What?" The witch breathes and Dean feels a strong arm pull him up and hold him steady. "Hunter!"

"You fucked with the wrong family lady," John growls, low and deadly, letting it rumble in his chest. It's comforting to Dean because he had truly been over his head. His father had come through. "And you'll pay." The witch frowns but waves her hands once more, a red glow emanating from them.

"It is not I who shall perish," She begins. "But you, hunter!" She throws her hands forward and John rolls to the side as spikes fly up out of the ground. Safely cradling Dean, he rises.

"Get your brother!"

"But Dad—!"

"That's an order!" He fires off a shot of his gun and hits the witch in the shoulder. Dean rushes from Sam and pulls his baby brother's into his arms. Holding him tightly, he runs for cover as more gunshots ring out behind him. Hiding behind a tree, Dean allows himself to breathe.

"It's okay, Sammy." He reassures his brother. "I promise." He can hear more spikes being summoned followed by his father's pained groan. Still, the older Winchester remains where he is until, after what feels like an eternity, all is silent.

"Dean?" Dean rises from his hiding spot, still holding Sam securely and faces his father. John holds his arm and frowns as he puts pressure on the bleeding wound. "Sam okay?"

"I think so," He mumbles. "He just looks like he hit his head."

"Let go home then."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

"He was a nice snowman," Sam explains, a few days later after the ordeal. John is out buying Christmas presents—almost losing his sons apparently jolted him back into good father mode—and Dean is happy that Sam will at least get the experience of one normal Christmas. "He told me he had to take me because a mean witch enchanted his hat."

"Uh-huh." John said not to indulge Sam on his "fantasies", as they were still trying to protect him from the reality of their life.

"Really, Dean!" Sam huffs. "I felt sorry for him. He seemed really nice!"

"Look, Sam, you dreamed it all up." Dean lies through gritted teeth. It's really for the best after all.

"I didn't!"

"Okay."

A few moments of silence.

"Hey, Dean?"

"What?"

A pair of small arms encircles his waist and holds him tight.

"I love you."

"I love you too, Sammy."

No matter what would happen to them in the future, Dean knows that will never change.

For Sam, he would do anything.

For Sam, he would sacrifice everything.

That's the way it would always be.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__More updates later, I promise. Please review if you have a second. Merry Christmas! _


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